Harry Potter and the Island of the Punished
by MammothPen
Summary: Harry is banished to a tropical Island for the period of one year as punishment. Escape is impossible.
1. Chapter One

HARRY POTTER found himself stranded upon this dreadful island. So stricken was he without food, water, or the implements of a wizard. He had never expected the punishment to be so severe for a minor wizardry infraction. But there was no time to think about the past. No, he must put all that behind him. Doing things without the aid of precious wizardry was definitely a daunting task, but Harry was sure it could be handled if some ingenuity and thought was applied in the right places. But for now...he had to get off this beach; a storm was coming.

Harry looked up to the overcast sky. It was a milky metallic grey with a splash of blue here and there where the sky managed to get through. He dug his toes into the white sand as the wind ruffled his perpetually disheveled. He blinked rapidly against the sun as its rays popped out for a brief second in one of the blue pools in the clouds. He surveyed the island and realized that the movies he'd seen probably yielded no useful information on how to get off an island. Harry couldn't decide if his first priority was shelter or food. The rumbling in the pit of stomach suggested the latter, but the cold stormy air that blew over his body screamed the former. Harry turned to the surf and something caught his eye. It was a gray cylinder and with every wave it was pushed further ashore then dragged back out and pushed forth again; like a watery yo-yo. Harry ran to it and picked it up. It was a tent. A note was attached. Harry removed the note from its waterproof package and unfolded it. Dumbledore's script was sprawled across it.

I'm not a total ass, here's something to "keep out the weather".

Oh Drat! It's not waterproof, too bad eh? Better than nothing, so count your blessings Mr. Potter. Enjoy! See you in a year.

Yours, Dumbledore

Harry scratched his head and tossed the note into the ocean along with a flow of unfavorable words directed at his vengeful headmaster. Harry took the tent ashore and found a suitable place to set up. He noticed the instructions were removed, but a parts list remained. Luckily, all the parts were included. Not a total ass indeed. Harry had shelter, not set up shelter, but shelter. He left the tent in a tree and sought food somewhere on the vast island.

Harry looked down at the pile of red berries in his hand. He brought them to his nose and took a long, investigating whiff. They berries smelled earthy and oddly dangerous. Harry tossed them into the sand. (Harry wondered of Dumbledore would also send a fishing pole and a food market.) Harry figured the stories of succulent wild boars roaming about the Island to be nothing more than a myth. But fish! They were not myths. Fish existed. Harry ran toward the beach and stopped short of the water. He had to contemplate what to catch it with.

Harry removed his shirt and with the aid of sticks, rigged a net. Harry held his shirt taut between the sticks and waded 20 or so yards off shore. With one swift move, he plunged both sticks into the sand beneath the surf. The sticks immediately fell in toward one another, formed a triangle briefly, and then began to float away. Harry grabbed the failed net and immediately went to work conceiving other ways to make it work. A thunderclap rumbled nearby and he ran back toward the beach for his tent. Coconuts were good enough.

Setting up a tent without instructions is very hard for a dolt, but not for the ingenious Mr. Potter. He had it set up, incorrectly, in ten minutes. The rain-fly wasn't tied on in the intended manner for Harry could not figure it out. He wasn't sure about not being a dolt. The ties from the tent bag worked fine as makeshift fasteners and rocks served as weights. But the truly frightening thing was the three metal rings left over after the tent was supposedly set up. Maybe they were in case a young couple was camping and the man decided to propose but forgot the real rock. Or perhaps they were used for rousing late-night games of ring toss. It didn't matter, Harry needed his coconuts. Food! Precious food! Shelter? Why it's been conquered, meal time, baby!

A few coconuts littered the ground around his tent. As he was gathering a massive cloud gave up the losing battle against the rain it held within and let its payload go in what seemed like an instant. Harry tossed his coconuts in the tent, then dove in right behind them, seconds before the deluge began.

Harry shivered beneath his wet shirt. He rubbed his hands together while rocking back and forth in an effort to keep warm. The storm pulled on the tent, at times Harry thought it listed a good 20 degrees. After an hour the storm died down and Harry lay down. He rolled onto his side and something long and slender in Harry's pocket dug into his leg. He reached in and removed the cumbersome object. It was butane lighter and it was half-full. Harry called it half empty; a victim of his stricken position. Harry decided that after the storm he should put some palm leaves and sticks on the beach to dry. He would have to make sure they were high enough to avoid being stolen by the tide. Once they were dry, a signal/cooking/camp fire would be made.

For hours the stormed continued to rage and Harry fell deeper toward sleep until finally he was drifting in an abyss toward a mysterious blonde haired girl with radiant blue eyes. She smiled warmly and beckoned him with her index finger. Her long white dress blew up around her legs like Marylyn Monroe's. Then, here perfect lips parted and she began to speak. But before Harry could hear her voice, she melted amid a thunderclap. Harry jerked awake in anger and confusion over the beautiful girl of his dreams. He had never seen her before and would probably never see her again. Thunder sucks.

The storm was beginning to wane, slowly, but definitely a gradual progression toward clear skies. When the rain stopped Harry peered outside and saw the storm actually helped him; the wind tore branches from the trees and scattered them about the ground. He collected as many palm braches as he could carry then toted them from the lush vegetated area where his tent was, to the beach. He put them as far up on the beach as he could and waited for the sun to work its magic.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

The life-giving flames bathed Harry's tired face in warm light. Every flicker and nuance of the fire reflected in Harry's eyes. His mind, now that he was warm and full of coconut, was on the girl in his dream. After a few minutes of carefully analyzing the dream, Harry concluded Dumbledore had somehow given him the dream in an effort to torture him even in sleep. If this were true, there was no escape from the island, not even in sleep. Of course the dream could be some sort of message on how to escape the island. How some non-existent blonde in a robe could help him off an island, Harry knew not.

Harry slammed down the last bit of coconut milk that was left and leaned back on the sand and closed his eyes. The sounds of the surf lapping against the shore lulled him into a surprisingly gentle sleep.

The dream came to him sometime before dawn. It was in a series of still images. The first one was a bed with a white comforter; on a white carpet in a room with walls of pale purple. The girl's robe was in a heap at the foot of the bed. But she was no where to be found in the image. The second image, more vivid now. The girl was now dressed in a Guyabara decorated with palm trees. She was wearing white khaki shorts, the pockets were overflowing with sand. She wasn't alone, a tall black haired man, dressed identically, was kissing her neck with his hands wrapped around her waist. The room they were in stood out: a classroom, in England. Why the Island garb. The third image was of just her, weeping all alone on the beach. The fourth image was of the black haired one. He was pushing her into the fire. She was half way down, her robe in every direction. Her hair obscured her face as did her hands that tried to brace her body against the flames. The final image was of a burnt out fire. A piece of white robe near the edge of the fire circle.

Harry awoke somewhere around 10 A.M. judging by the sun's position in the sky. It was horribly hot even in the morning causing Harry's tattered clothes to cling to him with sweat. He briefly considered the option of going nude, but a full-body sunburn didn't exactly leave one feeling good.

Harry spent the rest of the morning in the shade, lightly weeping. The gravity of the situation had finally set in and feelings of despair flooded his head. Soon despair gave way to a headache. Harry lay down and soon was asleep again. Sleep was brief no dreams of the girl.

A cold shower will leave ones sexual desires so low, the person doubts there is even blood coursing through their veins. So a bucket of chilly sea water falling on Harry's head was certainly not a night by the fire with a girl. He opened his eyes and the sal stung them. He quickly wiped them and once the bleariness faded, the girl from the dream came into view.

Harry screamed and crawled backwards away from the girl.

"Chill out, dude," Her voice more lovely than imagined.

"Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Laura."

"Hi Laura, who are you?"

She giggled and pointed to his pants.

His fly was down and somehow he was without his underpants. Harry embarrassedly zipped the pants up and prayed to God she saw nothing.

"Who. Are." he said through gritted teeth, "You? Tell. Me. Now!"

"Harry."

"How'd you know my name?"

"Your nametag"

Harry looked down, saw nothing and realized the joke.

"Cute."

"I thought so!"

"Who are you, please?"

"Okay, okay. My name is Laura and I am your advocate."

"Advocate?"

"Yeah, my job is to supervise your punishment. Everything looks okay here."

"What?"

She vanished into thin air.

Harry scratched his head and tried to go back to sleep. Unsuccessfully.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Harry awoke to find a letter nestled between his right big and middle toe. His name was written across the front of the envelope in ostentatious metallic pale blue gel pen. He opened the envelope and read the contents of the letter inside.

Dear Harry Potter:

My name is Laura and I am your punishment overseer advocate. My job is to make sure you do not die or become injured during the one year period you have been sentenced to on Holly Brush Island. Holly Brush is located 35 south of Grand Cayman. It is so named because there was once a beautiful young wizard that lived upon it. Some say she conjured a forever young potion and is still there today, but there have been no sightings. Legend goes she is very beautiful and tempting. If you do run into her, it might make your visit more enjoyable, but don't even begin to try to use her powers to help you. That's asking for a year on Legan Mountain. Not something you want. Although it's said the lady wizard enjoys the mountain scenery and is probably due for a change. That's enough history lesson. Your sentence is as follows: one year of isolation on Holly Brush Island, Unfortunately, you cannot leave. I lobbied to add the option to make the island escapable; a parole of sorts, the idea was shot down. I'm sorry. Any attempts you make to escape will be foiled. Good luck, Dumbledore sends his regards and the tent. I left a gift in the tent for you. I am sorry about the dreams and the water. And for stealing your underpants, I washed them and used fabric softener; enjoy. I will see you in two weeks. Be Safe

Laura

Harry tossed the letter down and sighed. One year. Inescapable. Underpants. It was too much to comprehend; Harry was going for a swim.


End file.
